Odes 2.7 (Creech): O Saepe Mecum

DEar Pompy that hast often try'd
Whilst once we fought on Brutus side
How near pale Death rough Wars attends;
What Genius now hath sent Thee home,
And who restor'd Thee back to Rome,
Pompy, the best of all my Friends?

With whom in Mirth and Wine and Play,
Whilst sweetest Roses Crown'd my Head,
and did their Fragrant Odors spread;
I often broak the lingring Day:

The bloody Wars, Philippy's Field
Ignobly having lost my Shield,
With thee I saw, secure from Wound;
I saw the flight, when haughty Proud
To Caesar's stronger vertue bow'd,
And basely bit the bloody ground:

Me Mercury secur'd from Fears,
He kindly wrapt me up in Night,
And sav'd me from the dangerous fight,
But Thee the Tide bore back to Wars:

Now then restor'd to ease and rest,
Pay Jove thy thanks and promis'd Feast,
Now tir'd with Wars, from danger free
Beneath my cool and pleasing shade
On flowry Beds supinely laid
Enjoy the Casks design'd for Thee:

See here they stand, these Bowls employ,
Forgetful Wine profusely pour,
From largest Shells rich Oyntments shour,
There's no extream in real joy:

Who Parsly twines, or Myrtle Boughs
To grace our Mirth, and shade our Brows?
Who Crowns prepares for every Guest?
Whom will the happy Dye design
The just disposer of the Wine,
And great Controuler of the Feast?

Let Mirth, and Joy, and Wine attend,
I must be Mad, I must appear
As wild as the mad Thracians are;
'Tis decent at the welcome of a Friend: